


Blind Design

by clokkerfoot



Series: Modern MCU crack [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Art Exhibition, Crack, M/M, Meet-Cute, Penises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6937117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clokkerfoot/pseuds/clokkerfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We are at an art exhibition and we stand in front of a big abstract painting for a long time until you say very calmly: ‘that’s definitely a penis.’ and we both start giggling and everybody’s staring at us AU // inspired by <a href="http://mitsouparker.tumblr.com/post/120207808481">this post</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Design

It was Nat’s idea to go to the exhibition. She was working in a new bar for the Christmas season, some upper class joint, and the guy she ran shifts with was an artist. He was called Matt, and he was _blind_ , but there was something to do with the whole being blind thing that made his art special?

Meaningful?

Bucky wasn't exactly sure. He’d stopped listening after a while.

So, Nat had told Bucky to come to the warehouse where Matt’s _Blind Design_ art exhibition was being displayed, but she was fifteen minutes late and Bucky was stuck outside in the cold. He’d sent her about fifty texts of varying coherency as he shivered in the icy wind that was lifting hairs on the back of his neck, but she was silent.

Asshole.

After a few more minutes, the guy holding the door for the exhibition guests asked if Bucky was going to come inside. Bucky spared one final glance down the road then huffed and stepped inside the building. It was, miraculously, quite warm inside.

He hung his jacket up on a peg on a wall after _very carefully_ checking he wasn't accidentally encroaching on an exhibition piece, a mistake he had made before, then he began to walk around the room.

Most of the art was abstract. Bright reds and deep blacks were the main colours of almost every canvas and the majority of the paintings didn't have much of a clear image within them.

Bucky appreciated art. He really did. But he’d never really gotten abstract art, just like he hadn't ever gotten old Renaissance art ( _why_ were there so many naked babies? _Why_ had Bucky seen so many tiny painted dicks? _Why?!_ ), and he was stumped about the meaning behind each painting.

Every piece had a plastic square on the wall beneath or beside it filled with information and a Braille translation, but Bucky was still completely fucking lost.

Halfway around the room, he saw something that made him stop and stare.

There was a giant canvas stretching up from floor to ceiling, covered in splashes and streaks of red and black and white. And there, right in the centre of the painting, pride of place, was a ginormous cock.

He stared at it. Gaped, really. There was a giant painting of a penis—or a bunch of random paint that looked very much like an erect cock and balls—in the middle of the exhibition, and _no one had noticed_? An old woman wandered in front of him, looked at the canvas, then continued on her journey as though she hadn't just been confronted by a massive red phallus.

Okay. Old women and penises. Not a great combo.

But still. _How_ had he gotten away with that canvas? Sure, he was blind and probably couldn't see the monster he’d created, but surely _someone_ must've monitored his artwork? Processed it? _Anything_?

He read the sign next to the painting apprehensively;

_ Blind Romance  
_ _The artist creates the feeling of allure and early modern romanticism with this red, black and white piece, inspired by the artist’s own experiences as a blind and romantically active individual in modern society. Painted in 2015 for the Blind Design exhibition. Acrylic on canvas._

Bucky sniggered. Yeah, that was allure alright. A giant acrylic dong. With white paint splatters, too. The guy’d really gone all out on the penis theme, apparently.

Someone came to stand beside Bucky, and he was about to apologise and move out of the way when he saw _who the hell_ was standing next to him.

Apparently, a god had come to earth and decided to hang out near Bucky.

Holy shit. It might've just been the whole penis imagery he had going on in his head right now, but Bucky was fairly sure he’d never seen a more attractive man in his life. Said attractive man was staring at the cock canvas, and Bucky didn't wanna seem like a _weirdo_ , so he followed suit and resumed his staring contest with the painting.

Bucky felt awkward. It was too quiet. If they were in a club he probably would've already had the guy’s pants around his ankles in the bathroom, but they were looking at _art_ . Being _arty_ together.

God, it was like a date. An accidental, beautiful date. With a stranger. A really hot stranger. A really, really hot stranger.

Hot Guy.

He was so hot. Like, could-bruise-you-with-his-fingertip muscly, all pecs and biceps and ridiculously perfect blond hair, two inches taller than Bucky and at least that many points higher on the ‘hotness’ scale.

“That’s definitely a penis,” Hot Guy said, all mellow and calm and totally unexpectedly, and Bucky absolutely _lost_ it.

The exhibition was _quiet as hell_ , so when Bucky let out a violent screech of laughter and buckled over at the waist, he got a few dirty looks. He could hear Hot Guy laughing his ass off right next to him.

God. Fucking damn.

Bucky couldn't stop laughing. He jammed his prosthetic fist into his mouth and concentrated on not falling over as he _sobbed_ around his fingers. It was _so_ _sudden_ , and he’d said it _so calmly_ like he hadn’t just insulted an artist’s finest work, and Bucky—

Holy shit, he was a mess. He was a disaster. He was snorting and cackling and making a hundred different stupid noises at once, and Hot Guy was making exactly the same sounds.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Bucky gasped, once his sobs stopped and he could half-breath again, “Dude, dude, you can't just _say_ that. It's— _dude_.”

Hot Guy didn't answer, just continued to snicker and snort like a damn horse or something stupid like that, and Bucky tried his breathing under control. Every time he looked up at the painting and the giant cock on the wall he got a billowing urge to laugh and it was _killing him_.

Bucky held his—not spit-soaked—hand up in the air in Hot Guy’s general direction. He choked out, “Bucky. Name’s Bucky.”

He felt a strong, big—

_holy shit_

—hand grab and shake his own. Hot Guy had a hell of a grip, and Bucky still couldn't really _breathe_ let alone _flirt_ but he had about ten different dirty ideas running through his head.

Hot Guy’s voice was just like the rest of him, absolutely smokin’, and he said with all the Hot Guy confidence in the world:

“Steve. I'm Steve. Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this sausage fest of a fic <3
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](http://clokkerfoot.tumblr.com/).


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